Steele Yours
by RSteele82
Summary: (AU Series) Written for "Guest" who wondered what happened in the background of "Steele At Your Service" that would lead Remington and Laura to embrace, eagerly, an intimate encounter at the end of the episode. The last of the 'fun' little stories before we get to the conclusion of the AU Series' Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

**_The Alternative Universe Series_**

 ** _Toss the Twilight Zone experience of Season 5 into the proverbial trash can. These stories pick up after Steele of Approval. While Approval still exists, more importantly these stories look at season 4 as most of the viewers saw it - Laura and Remington had crossed that line, imbuing that Season with the "Mr & Mrs Steele" feeling that most experienced. _**

**_To get the most out of my stories, I recommend reading them in the following order:_**

 **Steele Forsaken (Part 1 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)** **  
** **Steele Mending (Part 2 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series)** **  
** **A Holt New Beginning (Part 3 of 3 in the A Holt New Beginning Series; Takes place during and after Steele Searching)** **  
** **Holt the Presses (Takes place during and after Steele Blushing)** **  
** **The Holt Truth (Takes place during and after Forged Steele)** **  
** **You've Gotta Know When to Holt 'Em (Takes place during Premium Steele)** **  
** **Holt the Sugar (Takes place during and after Coffee, Tea or Steele)** **  
** **Not So Merry Steele (After Dancer, Prancer, Donner and Steele)** **  
** **Snippets of Steele (Missing scenes from Steele on the Air, Steele Inc, and Steele Spawning)** **  
** **Holting Down the Fort (During Suburban Steele)** **  
** **Steele Admired (During and After Santa Claus is Coming to Steele)** **  
** **Steele Moving Forward (Sensitive Steele)  
Steele Yours (Steele at Your Service) ****  
****Her Holt Heart (Pre Beg, Borrow through the end of Season 4 [No Bonds]) - Coming Soon**

 ** _As usual, I do not own the characters. I simply borrow them._**

* * *

Chapter 1

"Stop squirming," Laura scolded, as she slid the vest over Remington's arms and up to lay on his shoulders.

"Remington Steele doesn't _squirm_ ," he huffed, as he did precisely that. "It wouldn't at all be in keeping with the image we've worked so hard to cultivate." She rolled her eyes as she stepped in front of him.

"Alright. Twitch, bustle, chafe, joggle, wriggle, jiggle, wiggle. Pick whatever term you'd prefer, just stop doing it," she retorted, while her fingers glided down the row of buttons at the front of the vest, fastening each.

"And speaking of image—"

"I wasn't aware we were," she answered, drily, as she picked up his jacket and held it out.

"It would seem playing a _but-ler,_ " he continued speaking as though she never had, emphasizing the last word with considerable disdain, "Would run contrary to that very image."

"Oh, ho! Lord Marchmont, the pornography writer," she began ticking off, as she smoothed a hand over the lapels of his jacket, then sleeves, "Sam St. Cloud, the perverted buyer; Harley Ferguson, president of the Velvet Hammer Fan Club; Johnny Todd, the thug from Liverpool—"

"That's hardly the point, Laura," he whined.

"You're just upset because you envisioned sipping port on the veranda with the elitist rich while being waited on hand and foot," she accused, breezily. He gave her a woe-begone look.

"Yes, well, that may be, but—"

Turning around to pick up his gloves off the bed, she lifted her eyes heavenward, then a sly smile lifted her lips. Point in fact was they were just coming out on the other side of a difficult spell for them. Their relationship had barely survived their stint at the Friedlich Sensitivity Spa – each of them fighting, in their own way, to overcome the harm done to one another there – when her head had been turned by the glare of the spotlight. She'd behaved deplorably, although she hadn't recognized it at the time, putting her own self-interests ahead of the case, and, as a result, Billie Young had nearly paid for Laura's mistakes with her life. He'd been furious with her at the time, offering absolution, understanding, when all was said and done. A proponent of equality, she couldn't help but think it was now her turn to offer some form of comfort. And if happened to inspire him to 'get into' his role, all the better.

"Have I ever told you," she asked, adding a sultry layer to her voice, as she handed him his gloves, "About my fantasy involving the butler…" She drew her fingers around his ears "…servicing…" She pressed her lips to his neck as she streaked her fingers through his hair "…his mistress?" She pulled down his head and bestowed him with a lusty kiss that left his imagination igniting. Clutching her slim waist with his hands, he swallowed hard when their lips parted. Sliding a hand up her back, he cupped the back of her neck before she could escape. His eyes burned bright blue with desire as the captured the gaze of her brown eyes.

"And should I have a fantasy of my own where uniforms of domestics are concerned?" he wondered, touching his lips to hers as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She gave him a wide-eyed look.

"I believe we agreed long ago to tit…" She brushed her lips against his chin "… for…" the corner of his mouth "…tat" then smiled as his lips covered hers. They caressed hers for several heartbeats, before he pulled away and out of her embrace. Bending over, he picked up his suitcase.

"Then the sooner we get this show on the road…"

Her laughter followed him from the room.

There were days he was simply too predictable.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

At the peal of the doorbell, Remington strode towards the front door, his mood most foul. It was bad enough, in his opinion, to find him suddenly thrust into the most subservient of roles… even worse to discover Laura's disdain for the Wellington family was well placed. From what he'd observed, experienced, thus far, the lot of them were just this side of degenerates. Already, Harold had made inferences about the possible state of his future health…

* * *

" _ **Welcome aboard, pal. Here's hoping that you're a better swimmer than Hastings."**_

* * *

Next, his room had been ransacked… a fact he'd discovered in the seconds before he'd taken a blow to the back of his head, rendering him unconscious. Unfortunately, this was not an uncommon occurrence when investigating a case – he knocked out by a murderous fiend – but in this instance, it raised questions about their own _clients_ when Maria, the maid, revealed her association with the murdered Hastings and made him, Remington, an offer she hoped he couldn't refuse.

* * *

" _ **Oh, Mr. Steele, you must help me. Please, I will do anything you want."**_

* * *

That the woman was plastered, bodily, to him at the time of the offer made it clear precisely what it was she was willing to do.

Then there were the reminders, twice now, from their clients that the Agency needed to hurry the investigation along as funds were limited.

Yes, a black mood indeed, when that doorbell rung, only for him to swing the door open to find Laura and Mildred standing before him.

 _Oh, my._

As attractive as she found her Mr. Steele on any given day, her blood never failed to simmer when he was clad in a tux. Who'd have thought that same simmer would turn to a full-blown boil when she saw him garbed as he was now.

The truth was, she'd lied. Alright, had outright lied. She'd never in her life indulged in fantasies about a butler as she'd told him. When it came to fantasies strictly about him, well, those all tended to be inspired by the man, himself. The fire eater and the aerialist. Mmmm… that had played out well. Her stewardess to his snobbish customer. Not one she was likely to forget. His Richard Blaine to her Ilsa Lund? Well, she was fairly itching for him to suggest it.

But a butler. _Never._ Until now. _Let those fantasies commence!_ her hormones screamed.

She blinked, hard, then her eyes rounded at the glare he bestowed upon her.

 _Oops._ It would appear someone's temper was in need of soothing. Well, she'd take care of that when they found time alone. In the meantime, a girl's got to have her fun. Right? After all, how many times had the shoe been on the other foot, and he'd amused himself at her expense? With that thought in mind, she raised a haughty brow at him.

"Laura Giles of West Coast Living magazine," she announced herself, in a snooty tone which would rival that of Mrs. Wellington.

"Milded Krebs, photographer's assistant," Mildred added.

"We're expected," Laura continued in that imperious voice.

Okay, so, perhaps Mildred's order…

"Don't forget the luggage!"

…delivered in the manner it had been, was one insult too many for his fragile temper. And it wasn't beyond her to get in her digs when she could after being put in a situation she found intolerable.

* * *

 _ **"Oh, Mr. Steele, what a hairy chest you have. So macho, so manly."**_

* * *

She'd enjoyed his discomfort, then, so could she really blame him when he swung a suitcase into her bottom, now, making her jump? She peered at him over her shoulder, and when they reached her room, she simply couldn't help herself.

"Right there will be fine," she directed, stabbing a finger at an area of the floor where he could deposit her luggage. He'd done as directed, then had made a point to toss camera bags, overnight bag and tripod on her bed, his message clear: Do with it what you will.

She'd hoped for a few minutes alone with him, to lift his sagging spirits, but alas, it wasn't to be. Mildred had walked in, and a discussion of the case at hand had taken priority, after which he'd taken his leave to return to his duties. Her eyes followed him from the room.

 _Soon,_ she promised herself, V _ery, very soon._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Remington's adrenaline kicked in as soon as the team of horses whinnied then galloped away, pulling the rickety wagon in which Laura was trapped behind them, at a steady clip.

His stomach roiled and his heart dropped to his toes as he watched that same wagon break free from the horses, then flip over, depositing her somewhere beneath the wreckage.

The wheels hadn't even finished their final rotations before he reached her.

"Laura?" he called to her as he hit his knees and frantically dug through the straw, grasping her hand when he uncovered it. "Laura, come on…" He grunted as he pulled her from beneath the wagon. "Oh, dear God… Oh, come on. Get up, get up, get up." She swayed on her feet, clearly dazed. His fear, and relief, was palpable in his voice when he spoke again. "Are you okay?" He brushed the straw off her hair and shoulders. Only then did she notice the gathered crowd, her muddled mind recalling they couldn't blow their covers.

"That'll be all, Ruggles," she told him, words slurred, as she patted him on the arm, dismissing him.

He could only step back and watch as the Worthington's tended to her, as she insisted she needed no aid. Had anyone so much as glanced at him, that they had more than a passing acquaintance would have been revealed, as his helplessness, his frustration that he could not assure himself she was unharmed, was painted across his face.

Those feelings, however, shortly turned to fury when it was revealed the runaway horses and flipped cart had not been an accident, but an attempt to eliminate Laura.

* * *

"Laura?" Remington called softly, rapping lightly on her door with glove-covered knuckles. The door swung open, a hand grasping his forearm and pulling him inside, before the door shut swiftly behind him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, rubbing at her damp and curling hair with a towel. "Find something out?" He shrugged a shoulder and watched as her robe covered visage disappeared into the bathroom.

"Perhaps. I suspect Vincenzo is behind your little 'accident'," he answered, his eyes following her as she reappeared, dragging a comb through her hair. This time, he stepped in her path, and palmed her cheek in his hands. "Are you alright?" he inquired in a tight voice.

"I'm fine," she dragged out the second word in emphasis. "Nothing more than a few bruises and a good bump on the head." At that admission, a hand left her cheek, to skim through her hair. She winced when his fingers came in contact with the contusion at the back of her head.

"Turn around," he directed, "Let me see."

"There's no need," she insisted. His eyes flashed his irritation, but he let her have her way about things. With a sharp nod of his head, he stepped away, and strode towards the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked his back. He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"I believe I'll go have a word with our conniving client."

"Mr. Steele?" she called, when his hand began to turn the knob. He looked back over his shoulder at her, giving the opening she was hoping for. He turned to face her as she crossed the room to him. Resting a hand on each of his shoulders, she pressed up on tiptoe and touched her lips to his, allowed them to linger. When she pulled away, her mouth hovered mere millimeters from his, her brown eyes meeting his blue.

"Stay safe." His face softened, and she saw in his eyes her peace offering had been accepted. He leaned in for another kiss, before he stepped back and stroked the backs of a pair of fingers against her cheek.

"Yourself, as well, Miss Holt."

With those final words, he slipped out the door.

* * *

Laura opened the door to her room, then stopped short. The room had clearly been ransacked, but when she saw Remington lying prone, unconscious, in front of the armoire, she rushed through the door – anyone awaiting, be damned – and knelt beside him, Mildred on her heels. She grimaced openly, as she gave his shoulder a shake, trying to rouse him. It had never been easy for her to see him hurt in the line of duty, a certain amount of guilt accompanying those injuries each time. But now, on the heels of two other blows to his head in such close succession? She heaved an audible sigh as his eyelids fluttered then opened.

"You okay, Boss?" Mildred asked. Bleary eyes fought to focus on the pair of women, as Laura cupped the back of his neck and helped him to his feet. He pressed a hand to the back of his head, moaning.

"Mildred, why don't you get a towel and some ice?" she suggested, while easing him towards the bed. "Sit down. Sit down," she urged softly. He sat down, then palpated the lump on the back of his head and grimaced. "Did you see who it was?"

"No, but that's not unusual."

"What a mess," Mildred commented on the state of the room, as she returned with the ice and pressed it against the back of his head. Unconsciously, Laura reached out and lay a tender hand to the side of his head, letting it linger for a scant second.

"Anything missing?" he asked. Withdrawing her hand, she looked around the room.

"I think… One of the camera bags."

The trio discussed the case, Laura and Remington revealing new information they'd uncovered, then all three had claimed a task that needed to be seen to.

"I think I'll visit a photographer I know," Laura announced, after Mildred volunteered to search the household computer for Hastings' book.

"Okay. Well, I think I'm going to pay a visit to a certain wall safe I know," he offered, handing the ice to Mildred. Watching him preparing to leave the room, Laura made an impulsive decision. His gaze snapped from Mildred to her, when she stepped to him and lay a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Take care, Ruggles," she told him, her chin tipping upwards to look at him, as her hand skimmed down his chest to finger the fabric of his lapels. "With any luck, I'll see to it that you're fired tomorrow," she promised, lightly, then patted his shoulder with her hand several times. Throughout the contact, he'd fidgeted, tucking a hand into his pocket, pulling it out, running the other hand through his hair, unaccustomed to such an open display of concern from her in front of company. Nevertheless, he bent slightly towards her, before his eyes darted to Mildred and he recalled her presence. With a short moan, the too quick movement of his head ending with a sharp pain, he left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Remington looked down, ruefully, at his soiled, damaged uniform. Kuramatsu, the Wellington's gardener, had been revealed as Hastings' murderer, and had been foiled in his bid to add the pair of detectives to his list of victims, if it meant saving his own neck. Instead, he now lay unconscious in a stall in the stable.

"My tailor's going to kill me," Remington bemoaned, slapping his hands together to remove some of the fertilizer from his gloves. He and Laura stopped in the doorway, arms touching, as they looked outside at the now pouring rain. "Suddenly, I don't feel that eager about going back to the house." His eyes scanned her slim frame from head-to-toe, when they traveled back upwards, they stalled on the rounded curve of her bottom. Her eyes focused ahead on the inclement weather out of doors, she was unaware of his gaze, and lowered then dropped her arms.

"Well, we can't stay here." _Why not?_ he wondered, then repeated the thought aloud, as an arm snaked around her waist and turned her to face him.

"Why not?"

Before she could form an answer, his head descended and his lips covered hers, as he pulled her close. Instinctively, her lips moved with his as she grasped his upper arms. His imagination ignited when her small hand slipped through the cut in his jacket, to caress his shoulder. He tugged her tighter against his lean frame as he deepened the kiss in response, teased her with a quick brush of his tongue against hers, before their lips parted. Still held firmly in his arms, she pressed up on her tiptoes to look over his shoulder at Kuramatsu.

"What about him?" she asked. A mischievous grin spread across his face, as he released her and reached for the stable doors. Realizing what he had in mind, she lay a hand on his upper arm. "What will people think?" she asked, the better part of her unconcerned with the answer to her own question.

"What else?" he asked, then quirked a brow. "The butler did it."

A helpless laugh bubbled up from her throat at his impertinence. Not three minutes before, life and limb had been threatened, yet he'd already put that in the past for more personal pursuits. When he cupped her cheek in one hand, her neck in the other, she dragged her fingers through his hair and lifted her lips to his, quite willingly. The kiss quickly turned hungry, demanding. Her hands wandered over his shoulders, down his arms, back up, then as she palmed his neck, she stroked a splayed hand down his back. With a soft groan, he walked her backwards until her back was pressed against the barn wall. She couldn't stop the quiet moan deep in her throat, caused by the sensation of being trapped between the wall and his lean frame, while his hand skimmed over her silk covered waist, her ribs. Her fingers clenched his arm, flinched against the small of his back when he dared to sweep a thumb over a breast, unfailingly finding its sensitive peak. As a jolt of pure desire shot straight through her, she ripped her lips from his and buried her face in his neck.

 _We can't. Wecantwecantwecant,_ her pesky conscience tortured her.

"Laura," he murmured, breathlessly,

She pulled in a long breath of air, prepared to put a stop to things and that was her undoing. His scent surrounded her, and her lips, of their own accorded, whispered across his neck. He drew in a sharp breath, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers clutched at her waist and head.

He'd never been inhibited when it came to sex… when it came to much of anything, actually. He'd had assignations any number of times, not particularly caring where he was, who might see. But this was Laura, and he wasn't willing to share any part of her with anyone else. His eyes opened of their own accord and skirted towards the figure of Kuramatsu, whose head was lolling as he began to come to. He grasped her hand in his, when she began to tug at his tie. He shifted, drawing his neck away from her talented little mouth, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Not here," he panted. She reared back her head, and dazed but surprised eyes searched his face. When his eyes flickered in the general direction of Kuramatsu, she understood his sudden reticence. She nodded slowly, as she cupped his cheek in her palm.

"Then let's call the police so we can go home." This time it was he who nodded. Dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose, he caressed her neck then stepped away.

"There's a tarp on those bales," he indicated with a snap of his head. "Should keep you dry enough. I'll Secure him while you go up to the house and make the call."

"Alright," she agreed, shaking off the remnants of their encounter, focusing on business once again.

"And, Miss Holt?" She turned, giving him a questioning look with a tilt of her head as she held the tarp aloft. "Don't dawdle." A small, knowing smile lifted her lips, for she was an anxious for some alone time as he was.

"Don't worry, I won't."

With those final words, she dashed out of the stable, him watching her until she was out of sight, then turned his attentions to securing the gardener.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: This chapter contains a short section of NC-17 Material. If you are uncomfortable with such material or under 18, please continue to the next.**_

* * *

Chapter 5

The sun was just cresting the horizon when Fred stopped the limo in front of Rossmore. Laura had already decreed she, Remington and Mildred had earned a three-day weekend in lieu of finalizing the case so quickly. Mildred had been dropped off at home twenty-five minutes ago, with strict instructions the Agency doors would remain closed this weekend unless a true emergency arose. The instant the limo door had slammed shut behind their trusted secretary, detective-in-training and family member, Remington had given Laura's hand a hard tug, until she lay splayed against him in the backseat. No sooner had he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, than they had both dozed off.

They had dispensed with all niceties when they shut the door of his flat behind them. Taking the phone off the hook, she stripped down to her teddy, he his briefs, then they tumbled straight into bed, nestling into the warm cocoon of sheets, comforter and each other.

He had no idea what time it was, room darkened as it was by the heavy drapes, when the sensation of someone watching him dragged him from his dreams. A pair of bleary blue eyes blinked opened, a smile automatically lifting his lips, when he found a pair of warm, brown eyes staring down at him and a gentle hand stroking his neck. He grasped her hips and eased her down over his hips when she straddled him, a hand sliding upwards to burrow itself in her hair when she leaned down and fastened her mouth to his.

The tenderness with which she kissed him and the whisper soft touch of her fingers behind his ears, down his neck, over his shoulders, conspired to leave his blood simmering. And when she shifted away his touch, eased down his briefs, making it clear this encounter was for him alone? He was left clutching at the sheets, her hips, her waist, his eyes rolling in their sockets when she looked up at him through her lashes, giving him a saucy little grin before her lips closed over the tip of his shaft. It was all too much: her intermittent peeks up at him; her nails softly scraping the inside of his thighs; a soft hand caressing his sacs; her soft grip; and all the while, her mouth constantly on the move. He buried his hands in her hair, rasping her name, when the orgasm left him shuddering almost violently from the bliss she freely gifted to him. Afterwards, he gathered her close, his mouth covering hers, his body still twitching in the aftermath as he savored the taste of him and her flavor intermingling against his tongue. With a final kiss and a sigh, he gathered her close, and they slept once more.

When next he woke, she was gone, a note left on the bedside table.

 _R –_

 _Quick trip to the gym and a couple of errands since you seem determined to sleep the day away._

 _L-_

His brows rose in surprise when the alarm clock announced it was nearly two p.m. _Sleep the day away, indeed,_ he muttered silently to himself. Rolling to a sitting position, he dragged his hands through his hairs, then scrubbed at his face with the palms of his hands. There was much to be done in the course of a few hours, should he hope to act on Laura's fantasy about butlers: A meal to plan, a new dinner jacket to purchase, a trip to the market, then cooking of the meal itself. Given he'd no idea of what time Laura had left, he'd best be up and about it if he intended for preparation to be close to completion before she arrived back at the flat.

After a quick dive into the shower, then shave, he threw on a button down oxford, pair of jeans and Nike's before stopping at the front door to scribble a note of his own.

 _L-_

 _Ran to the market. Be back shortly._

 _R-_

* * *

As Remington stepped out of the kitchen, a salad plate in hand, he heard the front door close, and the unmistakable sound of Laura's keys being dropped on the credenza. He waited until she stepped into view, his eyes flickering curiously to the garment bag swung over her shoulder, but he never broke from his role.

"Dinner is served, madam," he announced in his snooty Ruggles affect, bowing at the waist as he spoke. A dimpled smile graced her face, as she dropped the garment bag over the back of the couch and she set her gym bag on the floor next to it. She allowed herself several heartbeats simply to admire the man standing in front of her: Crisp white, wing-collared dress shirt, gold brocade vest, black tails, white bow tie, black slacks and white gloves. _Oh my_ , she thought, much as she had the first time she'd seen him in such attire.

"What's on the menu this evening, Ruggles?" she inquired as she crossed the living room into the dining room, then took her seat in the chair he held out for her.

"Salad to begin, followed by rack of lamb accompanied by parmesan and parsley potatoes, and chocolate mousse for dessert, madam," he supplied, as he eased her chair forward. The smell of her still damp hair was positively intoxicating, and he broke character for a moment to drop a kiss against her neck.

"Ruggles, control yourself!" she admonished, keeping in role.

"My apologies, madam. I was overcome for a moment. Shan't happen again, I assure you." He bowed at the waist. "I'll leave you to your salad. The main course will be served, shortly."

"Wait," she called out, and turned in her seat to look up at him. "You're not going to eat with me?"

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be a'tall proper, madam."

"Remington, I don't want to eat dinner alone," she told him, reasonably. "I think Ruggles needs take five, while you and I enjoy our meal. What do you say?" He flashed her a wide smile.

"I can think of little I'd enjoy more." Removing his white gloves and dinner jacket, loosening tie and unbuttoning his vest, he retrieved his salad from the kitchen, then sat down catty corner to her.

"You seem suddenly dedicated to a role that only two days ago you likened to the bowels of drudgery," she noted, amusement dancing in her tone.

"Hmmmm, but I've found it… inspiring… to play the role for a particular young woman," he answered, with a pointed gaze in her direction.

"So, now that you've experienced the Wellington's first hand, are you still eager to rub elbows with them?"

"In that veritable _Peyton Place?_ Not at all. I mean, I've met some questionable characters amongst the upper elite in my day, but the Wellington's? Yeesh," he commented with more than a little disdain. "A decades long affair between the mistress of the house and the chauffer…"

"The prior hooker marrying the gay heir…"

"But sleeping with the illegitimate son of said mistress of the house and the chauffer…"

"Brother framing brother, son framing father for a murder…" she added.

"Not to mention a maid sleeping with a butler more than twice her age for financial gain," he pointed out, then added with a lift of his brows, "Gives a whole new meaning to 'the butler did it.' I wonder if he'd any idea how willingly she'd trade those… wares… to get whatever it wished when it suited her." She laughed softy at the last.

"Oh, my. That… friendly… was she?"

"Handsy," he corrected. "Handsy is the word that comes to mind,." He rose to clear the salad plates, then disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the main course and a bottle of crisp, white wine.

"Your fantasy in the flesh, huh?" she teased, as though there had never been a pause in the conversation. He gave her a censuring look.

"My fantasies have involved one particular, lovely lady for some time now," he reprimanded lightly, grinning when her skin pinkened at his words. "And yourself? At all tempted to become the kept woman of the idle rich." Her eyes widened, and she set her fork down hard on the table.

"How did you know about that?" He smirked in her direction.

"The only thing more prevalent than adultery in that household was gossip. Numerous mentions were made of Mr. Wellington's… fondness… for your backside." She grimaced with distaste

"I'm afraid I've found myself inconceivably drawn to the idle conman of late, despite my better judgement." He wagged his brows at her.

"Former conman," he corrected. "And butlers?" She set down her fork, and eyed him with open appreciation, indicating she'd lost interest in the meal before her.

"I believe…" she drew out the word, "I appreciate a very _active_ butler." He flashed her a lopsided grin.

"And dessert?" he inquired.

"Later, Ruggles. Much, much, later."

With that he stood, straightened his clothes, and easily slipped into the role of the cool yet impertinent butler.

"How may I be of service, madam?"


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: This chapter contains NC-17 material. If you are uncomfortable with such content or under the age of 18, please continue to the next chapter._**

* * *

Chapter 6

Laura sat on the couch, as Remington… err, Ruggles… cleared the table and did the dishes. She sipped on a glass of wine while mulling how the evening should proceed. The possibilities were… endless. There were the numerous kinks and aches from her wagon ride that could be addressed. One of his foot massages would be divine right about now. A rendition of her own fan dance, he'd once performed for him. Him ordered to slake each and every one of her needs, the very thought of which made a shiver of pleasure shoot through her. It was all so deliciously hers to choose from, but when he stepped into her view, the only thing on her mind was a seduction so thorough, so complete, the memory would follow him for a lifetime. Yes, she decided, in her butler fantasy, _she_ would take the lead.

"How else might I be at your service, this evening, madam?" She pursed her lips, then smiled.

"I believe I'd enjoy a fire this evening, Ruggles."

"Of course, madam," he agreed, with a formal nod of his head. She watched as he walked to the fireplace and flipped on the switch, the gas log flaming to life.

"If you would, the comforter and blankets from the bedroom, there before the fire?" she pointed a finger haughtily.

"Yes, madam."

As he retrieved the bedding from the bedroom, arranging it just so in front of the flames, she searched the radio of his stereo for what she was seeking. With a smile, she turned down the volume only in the slightest as Chopin's _Nocturno Op 62, No 2_ , trickled through the air. Only then, did she cross the room and taking his hands in hers, smiled softly at him.

"Sit with me." She cast the role of Ruggles aside as simply as that. She kept his hands in hers as they kneeled, then sat, facing one another. She scooted closer, their bent legs overlapping, her knees resting near his hips

"Laura—"

"Shhhh." She pressed a finger to his lips.

Warm blue eyes met hers, then closed as she whispered the fingers of both hands around his ears, then cupped his neck. The languid kiss she bestowed upon him was unlike any kiss she'd given him before – tender, confident, tinged with desire and thoroughly unguarded, filled with an emotion that left his heart racing. His hand trembled as it buried itself in her hair, and his lips instinctively responded to hers, taking what she was offering,

She found herself drowning in the rich, spicy taste of his mouth. She took and gave at will, exploring his lips, his mouth while her hands caressed neck, shoulders, back, then returned to cup his jaws. As _Nocturno Op 62, No 2_ ended and Liszt's _Consolation No 3_ began, her lips departed his to blaze a path along cheek, then jaw, while her fingers worked in concert to unknot then cast away his tie. Intuitively, his hands clutched at her waist when she began to back away. With a sensual smile, she leaned forward to tap her lips to his again, the retreated to lift a gloved had in hers.

"As interesting as these might be," she lifted her brows at him, suggestively, as she peeled the glove off, "I much prefer this." She raised his now bare hand to her mouth and kissed his palm, then repeated the same for the second.

One-by-one, she removed his clothes, gently caressing the skin that was bared, from time-to-time stilling his hands as they reached for the buttons on her blouse, to stroke her. He complied, his hands twitching, his body quaking, when she eased him to his back. As Liszt's _Consolation No 3_ gave way to Debussy's _Claire de Lune,_ she tugged off his slacks, then briefs. She bent over him a final time, her cloth covered breasts pressed to his bare chest and rested against an elbow as her lips sought his again. She touched her lips to his hot, opening lips, sipping at them, each of them tasting the sweetness of the wine in which they had imbibed not long before. His hands grasped at her slender waist, tugged, a silent entreaty that she cover the length of his now quivering form with hers. Instead, her lips fled, only to rest quietly next to his ear.

"Turn over, Remington," she whispered.

He wondered, as he did as bade -marveling at the same time how he found the strength to turn to his stomach – what sweet torture it was she next had in mind, and for how long he could bear it. Already, he felt as though he was drowning in the warm swell of emotions, the waves of sensation swirling about him, making it impossible to do little more than twitch, tremor and at times quiver. She was making love to him in a manner she never had before, giving all of herself, her eyes showing not a hint of inhibition – to the contrary, their honey depths telling him she was letting him all the way in. Gone were the walls, the questions, the fears. There was only Laura, and a tenderness, gentleness in her touch that told she was as vulnerable as he in the moment.

As the last notes of _Claire de Lune_ twinkled in the air around them, and Liszt's _Lieberstraum No 3 Nocturno_ s first notes began, his eyes drank in the sight of his lovely Laura, as she slipped one piece of clothing off a at a time until she was as bare as he. Heaven, in his opinion, was quite here on earth, as she sat astride him, her bum on his and her knees tucked against his sides. He sighed, deeply, when her hands strayed through his hair, then settle to massage his scalp while her lips whispered over his shoulders, her tongue leaving trails of wetness behind, only for her to blow softly against the moisture, sending goosebumps skittering across his skin.

There was something to be said for making love to the person who'd been your closest friend for years, long before you'd ever taken that first, maybe stumbling, step past the line in front of the bedroom door. They already understood the nuances of a look, what the inflection in the other's voice meant. They already knew how the other preferred to be touched and had, long ago, intentionally or inadvertently, had ferreted out some of their partner's most sensitive places.

There was something to be said, too, for your lover being a sensualist as Remington was. Just as he could not stop himself from admiring a beautiful woman, he had no resistance to the simple act of touch. Lips, hand, mouth, tongue, fingertips, he yearned to be touched in any way by her. He made no effort to hide what she was doing to him: His muscles often dancing, his skin twitching, the muscles of his bum tightening, while he groaned, panted, calling her name and God's frequently.

By the time _Lieberstraum No 3 Nocturnos, then Bach's Orchestral Suite No 3 in D Major_ ended, she knew if she took him too much closer to the edge, their bodies would not be merged when his restraint broke… and she wanted that more than anything.

Leaving him, she lay on her back beside him, then with a tug of his hand, encouraged him to hover over her. He stared at her, trying to slow his breathing, while is fingers brushed her hair back over her shoulder.

"Madam spoils me this evening," he panted, then reached for her neck, caressing it.

"Maybe madam believes Ruggles deserves a bit of extra attention for his _tireless commitment_ to the role." She fingered the hair at the base of his neck, while cocking a brow at him and giving him a wide grin. They both knew he'd been anything but devoted. However, he'd seen the detested role through to the finish, and that counted for something. By the time of Debussy's _Reverie's_ first stanza began, she'd judged him ready for the finale, and pressed her palms firmly against his chest. Never questioning her, he rolled to his back, pulling her head downwards for a long, thorough kiss when she straddled his hips.

Once again, she used touch, now combined with tender kisses, to drive him back upwards. She dragged her fingernails through the hair on his chest and abdomen, suckled at his collarbone, rolled his nipples between her fingers, while she shifted so his erection was cradled in the apex of her thighs. She rocked against him as his hands roamed her body, stroking, teasing, caressing. Suddenly she shifted, and his eyes rolled in his head, his hands clutching hers as she took his hard length inside her wet, hot depths. Leaning forward until their joined hands rested on the bed above his head, she rode him expertly, his hips thrusting upwards to meet hers. Already she was trembling at the edge, fighting against her impending orgasm, when the first notes of Chopin's _Prelude in E Minor_ eradicated what little restraint he had left.

"Oh, God, Laura, I can't," he groaned in apology, in the instant before he broke, grinding his hips into hers as he shuddered from the power, duration of his climax.

"Remington," she murmured, as she let go of her own tenuous hold, her body spasming, drawing him further inside. When she bit down on her lip, he pulled a hand loose from hers, and urged her head downward until their lips came together. They kissed, panted against one another's lips, until the last of their tremors subsided. She collapsed, burying her face in his neck, breathing in his comforting, familiar, scent as his arms encircled her.

She shifted, only the slightest, separating their bodies, but remaining splayed across him, one of his hands stroking her arm, the other tangling in her hair. She dozed within minutes, as he pondered the evening's events.

He'd been unable to stop himself, to hold out, when that melody had begun. It was the same one she'd played the night she'd moved into the loft and had discovered the baby grand he'd gifted her. Something had irrevocably changed in him the night following her house exploding, as he'd held her, sobbing and broken hearted, in his arms. He hadn't wanted to leave that evening he'd listened to Chopin floating through the air, knowing it was she at the keys. He'd wanted to take those three flights of stairs that would lead her to her loft two at a time, to bang on the door until she'd answered, then to use every ounce of his charm to persuade her into spending the evening with him, and not for sex, but merely presence. He'd wanted to… protect her…. To make sure she remained safe… for him. It had taken everything he'd had in him not to do exactly that, but what had led him to dismiss Fred, to opt to walk home instead, was the acknowledgment that if he failed to honor her request for solitude, he might well push her away.

 _That_ had been unacceptable.

Form terrify him thought it might, as he'd learned the night she'd dangled from a girder hundreds of feet above the ground that he wasn't quite prepared to lose her, by the time he'd held her as she'd cried, he'd learned he needed Laura Holt in the world for him… period. She'd somehow become his compass, his comfort, his happiness.

How could that particular melody not have affected him as it had?

And now? He wanted to fall asleep, exactly like this, every night, for the rest of his life.

With that thought in mind, he drifted to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"This is not exactly what I thought you had in mind," Laura commented drily, while giving him a withering look.

Remington shifted where he sat on the couch, his body positively aching to feel her beneath it.

But….

A man had to have his fun… didn't he?

 _My, but she's certainly outdone herself,_ he silently appreciated, as his eyes leisurely traveled over her petite frame from head-to-toe. He'd nearly swallowed his tongue, truth be told, when she'd stepped out of the bedroom in that little black and white satin French maid's uniform. _Little_ being the operative word. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination, the skirt ending just below the curve of the cheeks of her bum, the bodice so low it started only a scant few millimeters above her nipples – which, by the way, were reacting rather delightfully to the cool fabric brushing against them when she moved. But it was the garters and the white silk stockings on a pair of knockout legs that really did it for him. He was positively itching to feel that silk under his fingers, to roll one stocking at a time down those legs, his lips following, his tongue tasting every inch of bared skin.

He shifted again.

"Really, Laura. All these years you've accused me of only being after one thing, when the evidence now would suggest it was at yourself that particular finger should have been pointing," he quippe.

" _Mr. Steele…"_ She drew out the name and the manner in which she'd spoken it past tight lips while her eyes flashed fire, suggested he might be pushing things a bit too far. He decided to test the waters…

"A little care, please," he sniffed with an imperious flick of his hands towards the sconce she was tending to with a feather duster. "I believe you missed a spot."

Her temper flared, and she slapped the feather duster down on the dining room table, untied the frilly apron at her waist and tossed it on the table as well.

 _Ooops._

" _That's it!_ " she ground out, marching resolutely through the dining room, towards the front door. "If you honestly believe I'm going to indulge some fantasy of yours where I am the subservient little woman, you have another thing coming."

Before he could scramble, in shock, to his feet, she'd flung the front door open and was striding swiftly towards the elevator.

"Laura!" he called after her. "Laura… LauraLauraLauraLaura…. Wait!"

"Good _night,_ Mr. Steele," she called, bitingly as the elevator doors slid closed before he could reach them.

 _Ah, bloody hell._

Turning back towards his apartment, he stumbled stepped then groaned aloud before looking back towards the elevator and gnawed at a thumb nail.

If she was infuriated now, she'd be bloody well murderous once she realized she'd traveled home in that skimpy little number.

Closing the flat's door behind him, he fixed himself a drink, then flopped down on the couch and dragged a hand through his hair. A certain amount of groveling would be demanded, needless to say, not to mention a good deal of contrition.

Still, he couldn't help the grin that lifted his lips as he'd recalled her pinkened cheeks, flashing eyes and proud flounce as she'd left.

He glanced at his watch. He'd give her an hour, then drive over to her loft. Then, with an excellent bottle of champagne in one hand, a box of chocolates in another, he'd throw himself on her mercy.

Now, how to go about getting her back into that lusty little outfit….


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Alright, alright, you win, readers, friends. After requests, expressions of disappointment, a little begging and one prediction as to my health should I not write the 'ending'… here it is.**_

* * *

Chapter 8

Remington stood in front of the door to Laura's loft, shifting from foot-to-foot. Although he'd become well-versed at apologies over the last years when it came to his Miss Holt – and, if he did say so himself, fairly adept at unruffling her feathers when the occasion called, as well – one could never predict how those apologies would be received. With a cool edge, accepting it, but letting him know all was not forgotten. With a wary look, the effort appreciated, but his sincerity a question in her mind. With a warm, somewhat shy, smile that meant she, herself, had possibly gotten carried away. He'd yet to take a door in the face, but one could never rule out that possibility.

Thus, feeling a bit foolish, he'd prepared for _this_ apology with the thoroughness of an art thief planning a heist. The thought had raised a low chuckle from his throat, for what was he, if not a thief trying to steal this particular woman's heart, so he might call it all his own? Standing before his closet, he considered donning his butler's uniform again, for that had certainly stirred the woman's imagination, but quickly discarded the idea as it would muddy the waters on whose fantasy might be played out, should she come round. A suit? No, he rarely worse suits of an evening, unless they were going out. He'd finally settled on the obvious: a pair of jeans that fit a bit on the snug side, a long sleeved chambray shirt left untucked, and a simple pair of white tennis shoes.

Whether the woman would admit it or not – and God above knew she wouldn't – she had a 'thing' for him in jeans. She tended to stand just the slightest step behind him, when he was so clad, and he'd always be left squelching a smile, knowing she was checking out his _ass_ ets.

He considered the chocolates he held in hand, questioning for the half dozenth time his decision not to bring the champagne for fear that bottle might become a projectile. No use abusing a good bottle of bubbly, now was there? The same could be said for being concussed by one. Uncertainty aside, he wasn't about to return to his flat to get it now. Drawing in a long pull of air, and plastering a smile on his face, he reached up depressed the buzzer to her loft.

Inside, Laura looked towards the door, from where she sat on the couch, wrapped in a thick robe while sipping a cup of tea, still stewing. The man had some nerve, taking what was _supposed_ to be an erotically charged fantasy, perverting it, instead, to force her into a subservient position to him. Vacuuming and dusting, while he watched, criticized, smirked. Well, she'd wiped that smug superiority right off his face when she'd stormed out, hadn't she?

She'd felt a bit smug herself, seeing the look of panic on his face as the elevator doors had closed. It had taken the edge off her temper, in fact…

Until she'd realized halfway home she was still in that skimpy little outfit with not a thing in the Rabbit that she could use to cover herself with when she got to her building. Then? Her temper had flared again. She'd made a mad dash into her building hoping no one would see her before she could escape to the sanctuary of her loft. Almost had. _Almost._ Until she'd run, almost literally, into her often surly neighbor, Mr. Bartholomew, as he was going down the third flight of stairs while she was racing up them. But it was when the man had stalled at the bottom of the stairs to turn and look up, eyes agog, at her barely clad fanny…

Well, it was a good thing her Mr. Steele wasn't nearby, for she may well have put her hands around his neck and squeezed.

The door buzzed again, tearing her from her thoughts. There was no need to guess who was on the other side of that door. She considered letting him stay out there, depressing the bell, his panic building as he wondered if he'd taken things too far this time.

"Laura."

His voice penetrated the heavy door. With a sigh, she set her cup of tea on the coffee table, then stood up, tightened the sash of her robe more snuggly around her waist. Carefully blanking all emotion from her face, she gave the door a firm yank and slid it open.

His own nerves, however, were written all over him. Good. She suppressed the smile tickling at her lips and lifted a pair of imperious brows at him.

"Did I forget something?" she inquired coolly. "Need a window washed? The silver polished? A _spot_ scrubbed out of a shirt?" A glint of humor flashed through his eyes at her acerbic greeting.

"Well, I do have a few shirts that could do with a bit of ironing," he retorted, a teasing smile on his face. She gave him an acerbic smile.

"I'm sure there's any number of women who would be willing to endlessly dust, darn and iron for the opportunity to be with the _great Remington Steele_ ," she answered drolly, the last three words dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe you should give one of them a call."

"Can't do that, I'm afraid," he instantly replied, "As there's only one woman with whom I'm inclined to share domesticity." The intense, sincere look he leveled her with set loose a bevy of butterflies in her tummy, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of allowing him to know that.

"I didn't realize you were dating," she deadpanned. She barely suppressed the laugh that wanted to bubble past her lips at his stalled expression. She widened her eyes in feigned innocence. "Surely you can't mean myself," she continued, pressing a palm against her chest, "Given how clear I've made it over the years that I'm not in the least bit interested in being 'domesticated.'" He swallowed hard. Somehow, he'd hopped from the pan into the fire and he wasn't quite certain how. He let out a short, frustrated puff of air.

"Perhaps we could begin again?" he suggested, holding out the box of chocolates. "A peace offering to accompany an apology. May I come in?" Her mouth watered as she eyed the decadent treat. She stepped back and held out an arm offering him entry, plucking the box of chocolates from his hand as he came inside. She retreated to the couch, curling her legs up under her, while he closed the loft door then took a seat opposite from her on the couch. Leaning forward, he grasped a foot and gently straightened her leg, as she considered the chocolates on her lap.

"An apology you were saying?" she reminded him, as she bit into a chocolate truffle. She hummed quietly, unknowingly, due more to the fingers massaging her instep than the sweet treat melting in her mouth. _Good start, Mr. Steele_ , she commended him in her head. In her opinion, his foot massages were one of his greatest talents.

"I believe you know…" he pursed his lips in a part smile and bobbled his head, "…despite recent events which may have been interpreted otherwise…" his smiled faded and his eyes met hers, "…That I neither see you as subservient to me, nor would I ever wish you to be. I was doing nothing more than having a bit of fun." He gave her a conciliatory look. "At your expense, granted…" he shrugged a shoulder, them added with a raised brow "…Much as you had a bit of fun at my expense as well, if you're to be honest." She mulled the indictment and couldn't deny the truth of the accusation.

"I suppose," she drew out the words, conceding his point. "But, if we're going to act out these… little fantasies… of ours, they're not the time to settle a grievance, to get in a little tit-for-tat. You may be an old hand at these… games… but frankly, I'm not." She dropped her eyes to the box of chocolate on her lap, brows furrowing. "There's a certain level of trust, vulnerability even – at least for me - in just admitting to having the fantasy, let alone acting it out." She lifted her eyes to look at him. "When you do something like you did tonight—" She heaved a sigh, and shaking her head, looked away from him.

Dropping her foot, he leaned forward and clasped her hand in his, giving it an encouraging tug. Dropping the box of chocolates on the coffee table, she turned around and settled between his legs. When she made to lean back against him, his hands on her shoulders stilled her. Nimble fingers loosened the sash of her thick robe, and he slid it back off her shoulders. With only a t-shirt between his hands and her skin, he began locating the knots in her shoulders and massaging them loose, one at a time.

"I'm sorry," he told her, sincerely. "Admittedly, I do enjoying tweaking that glorious temper of yours from time-to-time, but truth be told, while I expected you to demand an end to my antics, it never crossed my mind you'd storm out as you did." His hands shifted lower on her back. "And for the record, contrary to what you seem to believe, I've not made a habit of these games, as you call them, with other women."

"Ha!" she barked, then snickered. "You seem to forget I have a passing acquaintance with some of those women, and I can think of several that would have jumped at the opportunity to play Scarlett to your Rhett, Karen to your Milton, Holly to your Paul—"

"All of which imply an intimacy I neither felt nor wished to convey," he dismissed. "Have you indulged in such with each of your past lovers?" She snorted a soft, short laugh.

"Some might argue my affair with the professor was the very rendition of the naughty school girl and the dirty teacher," she mused. With peace seemingly restored between them he slipped an arm around her waist and eased her back to lay against his chest. Two fingers at her chin urged her to turn her head and look at him.

"Do you think we might start fresh, so that delectable little outfit you were wearing might be given the appreciation it deserves? Hmmmm?" Peace, or no peace, she couldn't resist the opening he'd unwittingly offered her.

"Oh, I think it's already received its fair share of _appreciation_ this evening," she informed him with a lift of her brows. "Mr. Bartholomew was quite taken with it." He had the decency to grimace, but then couldn't help the chuckle that escaped from deep in his throat.

"And here I'd believed he and Albert – What's that quaint American phrase? – Ah, batted for the same team."

"His ogling would suggest otherwise," she noted, drily. Sitting up she pulled her robe back over her shoulders than stood. The look of disappointment on his face was almost comical. "I guess since we indulged my fantasy, it's only fair that we do yours as well." A wide smile graced his face as he sat up, his eyes sparkling with unconcealed glee that he managed to set things right. Her eyes narrowed on him, causing his smile to falter. "But I'm warning you, Mr. Steele… One suggestion that I clean or 'tidy up' anything, and not only will this be the last of the fantasies we indulge in, but I'll need a cleaning crew to mop you off this floor." Standing, he gave her a cocky smile.

"Don' be ridiculous, Laura. A man hardly employs a maid to clean her own home. Now, should you wish to return to my flat,-"

"Remington…" she growled his name. He held up his hands in self-defense.

"Just kidding, Laura. Just kidding."

With a roll of her eyes, she climbed the stairs up into her bedroom to change.


End file.
